


if it hurts and you can't take no more (lay your heart on me)

by frnndtorres



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Probably sexual content, at some point, character monologue???, i know it says rape but it's just mentioned, i'm morisco trash, this shit's fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnndtorres/pseuds/frnndtorres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>Then Álvaro Morata came and fucked everything up.</em>"</p><p>or</p><p>the one were Isco is hiding a dark past behind those dazzling smiles and Álvaro is the only one who manages to break down his walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. to wake up three times a night

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, some things before you can read:
> 
> 1\. This work is pure **fiction**. Everything except for some dates and actual facts is a product of my (fucked up) imagination, so please, don't use this as a reference for anything.  
>  2\. I tagged _Rape/Non-Con_ but its actually only mentions of it and it sort of wasn't(???) exactly rape so don't worry, this is not rated R or anything of the sort.  
>  3\. Some dates or facts may be a bit different to fit the story but they're mostly right (I think).  
> 4\. **THIS IS IMPORTANT:** I actually don't know any of Isco's teammates in Valencia or Málaga but, and I can't say this enough, this is fiction, and I don't want to offend anyone, it's just for the sake of the story.
> 
> Okay, thank you and enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Title taken from: _Raging_ by Kygo)

_“What the_ fuck _?”_

_-were the only words that Isco managed to whisper as he stared at the tv in front of him._

_He sat there, paralyzed, half haunted by what he had just heard the commentators say and half beating himself up because he_ should’ve fucking known, fuck.

 _It’s not like there hadn’t been any talk at all, amongst his teammates and other clubs, Marca and every other shitty, drama-loving magazine were having a blast with all of the rumors. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just casually ask the other players, that would’ve been so suspicious not even_ he _could dig that big of a grave. He could already imagine the amount of teasing he would get (_ “Oh, so you do want to know if your little boy toy's coming back, don’t you?") _. Fuck no._

 

x

 

He wouldn’t really admit it to anyone (not even himself) but he was one of the most prideful and stubborn people to ever walk the face of earth.

He wasn’t always like that, though. He remembered being young and innocent and _shy_ and it was okay because no one cared, no one teased him or bullied him or anything of the sort, people usually just thought he was adorable. But then he got into football. He started playing, first with some kids in the nearby park and then on the school team and soon he, along with everyone else, realized that he was _good_. That he was great.

And that’s when it started.

Teasing, the bullying, he snapped.

He _knew_ that he was really good, he had always known, but there were some obvious things he just couldn’t ignore.

For one, Isco was small ( _I mean for fuck’s sake he’s 1.76_ ), he was already fragile in the physical sense because he was long-limbed and couldn’t put on as much weight as normal kids his age would. It that wasn’t so bad, though - it wasn’t something he couldn’t deal with. But then he also managed to be vulnerable in _every other way_.

He didn’t have that many friends and people wanted to _hurt_ him, to get rid of him because he was better than them, than anyone else, but he didn’t mind. He fought his way through different youth academies, being rejected from most of them because he just “wasn’t fit” for them, which really just meant he didn’t reach their standards - it meant he wasn’t enough and somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he knew this, but he never gave up, it just wasn’t an option, and because of this, at thirteen, he made it.

Atlético Benamiel came knocking on his door and he didn’t think twice about joining them, signing the contract without even reading it because _he had made it_.

He was ecstatic. He finally had it, everything he ever wanted, proved every single person that ever doubted him wrong and so he played like it was the only thing allowing him to breath - keeping him _alive_.

Then Valencia came and everything went to shit.

He thought he was just way too lucky.

Valencia wasn’t the best club, sure, but it was a big club, with a big name that people knew and supported. It was a big step, he knew it, but just like the last one, he lunged at it, with his heart on his sleeve and his hopes surrounding him like a forcefield, protecting him from any threat keeping him safe.

But that’s the thing about hope, is easily gained and, for people with a weak character, it can be taken away just as easily, shattered to pisses right in front of their eyes.

Isco was one of those people.

He came from a small club where he was the best without a doubt and that’s just what he was _used_ to. Of course he was quickly and harshly brought back to reality when he realized that he just wasn’t that person anymore - not in Valencia. For once in his life he wasn’t the _best_ and it just hit him. Hard.

It wasn’t because he was arrogant, fuck no, Isco was one of the sweetest kids, but people took advantage of this, and by _people_ I meant his teammates.

That year he was one of the only new kids in the youth system and when was presented, all bright smiles and sparkly eyes, no sense of self-preservation and willing to do almost _anything_ anyone asked of him, he was done for.

Isco wasn’t an easy prey, he was _easiest_ prey.

When he looks back at it now… well. He really just curses himself for being so _naïve_ , so dumb and stupid and gullible. He hated himself with a burning passion every time he was somehow remembered of those five years he spent in Valencia.

It was fine at first, his teammates, a little older than him, knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to befriend or trust them, why would he? He was new, alone and stupid. So they used him, making him do idiotic shit for their enjoyment, dumping all of their dirty, sweaty jerseys on him after training, using him as target for practicing shot accuracy and throughout all of this, Isco smiled, he never stopped smiling because he was so happy about just _being_ there that everything else just blurred in the background, and well, he thought it was some kind of initiation of sorts.

It never stopped, though, and young Isco couldn’t help but wonder if they just _didn’t like him_.

But he never said anything.

A year passed and he was now fifteen. New kids came and he was still the only one his teammates treated the way they treated him, but he was so used to it. It was normal.

Isco had always known he was into guys, he was okay with admitting it to himself and just knowing it, his family had never frowned upon homosexuals and he was raised the same, but this was a long time ago and back in 1992 people usually weren’t as open-minded as his family was, so he kept quiet, and once again, he didn’t mind.

For him, telling someone about his sexuality was like telling them that his hair was black, or that he had two eyes and a nose - it was just _there_ , a fact.

As a little boy Isco knew that other boys would normally date girls and vice-versa, but he was so focused on football that he didn’t think much of it - at least not until was around twelve or thirteen years old and his friends started talking about girls and boobs and curves.

Puberty was hitting him like nothing had ever before and now certain things were happening to his body. He had hair in places he never had before and suddenly he was waking up feeling his lower body hot, suffocated and hard.

Of course he learned what this was, from movies and friends and magazines and school, but when it came down to it and he had to relieve himself, he soon figured that thinking about big boobs on a small curvy body just wasn’t doing it for him. Instead, in those quiet, intimate nights, he fantasized about lean bodies, with a strong back and broad shoulders, big hands and facial hair.

That’s when he realized that he was, in fact, playing for the other team.

And, like with everything else, he was fine with it.

Until he wasn’t.

It happened one night when they were all supposed to be sleeping but still decided to stay up late even though they had a game the day after and Isco wasn’t exactly fond of joining them - not because he was that much of a goodie-two-shoes and wanted to be at bed by ten, but because somehow this little meetings just always seemed to end badly for him, one way or another.

His teammates, of course, didn’t care and he was dragged out of bed and into another room, sat down between two other players and told to _shut the fuck up, Alarcón_ when he dared to yawn. So he stayed put.

That, until a question was directed at him and he was totally caught off guard by it, so much so that he didn’t need to actually _say_ something for the rest of the guys to know the answer.

( _"_ _How come you’ve never had a girlfriend? Surely you’ll get any stupid girl on their knees with your boyish looks."_ )

And Isco knew that, for once, the question wasn’t meant to embarrass or humiliate him. But it still did. He didn’t manage to say anything but he blushed furiously and looked down with a shy, nervous smile on his face, and of course, his teammates weren’t slow to catch up.

( _"Oh my god, he’s a faggot!”_

_“Holy shit, do you jerk off thinking about us?”_

_“I bet he fucking does, the fucking fag. He must be thrilled to be surrounded by us all the time.”_ )

Isco however, was somehow surprised, because even though he wasn’t comfortable with telling anyone (especially his teammates who hated his guts) about his sexuality, he was really expecting their reaction to be way worse, but apart from the few hurtful remarks he got every now and then nothing seemed to have changed, they still hated him but didn’t show it any more (or less, for that matter) than they usually did and Isco was once again happy - and a little relieved if he was honest with himself. Telling someone, even if it wasn’t who, how, or when he wanted it, was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he decided he liked the feeling.

It was now 2008 and he was sixteen, older and bigger but still as naïve and willing as ever.

The situation with his teammates hadn’t changed but he had managed to earn his place on the starting XI for almost every match and for Isco things couldn’t have been better at the moment.

But then some things changed.

He started to notice it one day while in the changing room that some of the guys were staring at him, blatantly so, whispering secretly amongst themselves. Isco didn’t think much of it because it wasn’t all that weird for him to be left out of the team’s inside jokes (or the team itself) more often than not. It wasn’t weird at all. So he simply ignored them and finished getting ready without another glance at the bunch and it wasn’t until he was bidding them farewell that he was stopped, asked if he wanted to join them for a “night out” ( _whatever that meant because he was sixteen himself and he didn’t recall most of them being much older_ ), and suddenly this feeling of happiness and excitement came over him, took over his common sense and smashed any possibility of declining the offer because for the first time in almost three years he was being invited to something - he was wanted. So he turned around with a bright smile on his face and nodded, thanking them for thinking about him but they just shrugged it off nonchalantly and told him where and when to be.

Isco got home as quickly as he could and decided to change his clothes for something nicer (he felt like he needed to prove himself in every sense of the word) and with an excited smile plastered on his face he left as quickly as he had arrived and his parents didn’t question it.

He arrived at the house, shortly finding the host to be one of his teammates, the rest of them were there as well and there were no adults but a lot of alcohol and suddenly he felt a bit uneasy, but he simply shrugged it off and told himself not to be a pussy for once.

They sat down in a circle and decided to play Truth or Dare, once again the feeling of uneasiness returning but before he could think much of it the bottle landed on him and he was dared to down five beers at once. Now Isco has always been a lightweight and he knows that now because that was the day he found out, but at the moment he felt like he needed to do it in order to be accepted and maybe not as hated. So he did.

It was hardly the first time he had tried beer but surely the first time he had had more than a few sips and by the third one his nose and lips were starting to numb considerably, but he ignored it and they kept playing while he finished.

By the time he was done he was almost sure he was drunk and he felt happy and light, all bad feelings and worries left behind, everything seemed funny and nice and nothing was impossible anymore. He was at peace.

A few hours passed by but for him it felt like minutes and he just kept answering stupid questions and downing every beer that he was dared to like it was nothing and it was okay because everything was going smoothly.

He didn’t notice the hand that was placed on his thigh, not until it reached higher, closer to his crotch and he slightly lolled his head to the side so he could look at it, his eyes slowly shifting up to look at the person sitting next to him. They just smiled and moved it higher. Isco’s head was fuzzy and everything was blurry but some alarms started to go off and so he squinted and tried to move away, but the guy simply gripped his leg tighter, painfully so, and Isco frowned, but stayed put.

Nothing else happened for a while, there were few beers left and people were running out of stupid dares but everyone was having a laugh and in Isco’s mind that’s what mattered. He had practically forgot about the hand that was still on his leg until he felt it again, this time as a quick brush against his groin and he jumped at the movement, trying to get away from it. He tried to stand up but he stumbled and lost his balance as soon as he did, falling quite hard but giggling a little, and that’s when he noticed that someone had caught him and he was lying across their crossed legs casually looking up at him and the only thing he said was  _oops_ while giggling loudly, way more drunk than he had originally thought and he just didn’t care. The guy had smiled down at him but somewhere in the back of his mind Isco thought that it looked a lot more like a smirk.

He was asked if he had ever had sex before, with a guy of course, and he shook his head blushing a little but still giggling. Then he was asked if he wanted to and he only managed an unsure _I guess_ , because the real Isco was actually terrified of that kind of intimacy but this Isco, this drunk, more-careless-than-usual, too-honest Isco wasn’t about to let his teammates know that.

Everything else after that is too blurred (or too embarrassing) to tell exactly as it happened, however he does remember some things vividly.

He remembers seeing a shirt on the floor beside him and thinking he had one that looked _just like it_. He remembers feeling a sudden cold when his pants came off as well and then someone tugging at his briefs. He remembers wanting to say something but forgetting what when a sudden wave of pleasure course through him and he moaned not exactly sure of what was happening.

Everything else he just won’t even try to think about but when he woke up the next morning, with the worst headache of his life, sweaty and sticky, wincing as soon as he sat up, he had an idea of what had happened.

Technically speaking, it wasn’t rape.

It wasn’t because he never said no, actually he said  _I guess_ and there was a video and he seemed to be enjoying himself up until the _actual sex_ , but he didn’t stay long enough to watch that part and tears blurred his vision as he ran away from his teammates’ laughter.

He had begged them to delete it, he knew only one of them had it to lower the risk of anyone finding out because they would surely get in a lot of trouble for what they had done, and after weeks of begging they did it, with one condition.

Isco’s “perfect” life had suddenly been turned upside down and nothing was the same anymore. He wasn’t as happy, really he just wasn’t happy period. He was confused and angry and sad, he didn’t know what to do or who to tell or if to tell anyone at all. Everything he thought he knew about himself had changed because now he wasn’t sure of anything. He had lost interest in most things, excluding football because, honestly, running across a field until his lungs felt like giving up and every single muscle in his body burned like fire was the only normal thing left in his life, it was practically keeping him alive and he didn’t want to stop even if it hurt so damn much because at least in those 90 minutes the only thing he had to worry about was scoring (and not throwing up one of his lungs in the middle of the field).

A few people had noticed his change in attitude but simply shrugged it off, his parents thought it was adolescence and his coach didn’t exactly mind as long as it didn’t affect his game.

If you guessed right, and you probably did because Isco seems to be the only one who can’t see anything that’s coming his way, the condition for deleting the video was, in fact, sex, and he’s not sure when it happened but suddenly he was the team’s whore.

It started with the guy who had taken the video in the first place, but then another one came and Isco just couldn’t say no. At the moment he didn’t know why he couldn’t but now he suspected it was because he loathed himself so much for ever trusting them, for not defending himself, for being so fucking stupid, for never seeing the signs, for not fucking punching the guy as soon as he touched him, that he just didn’t care anymore.

He was fucking miserable and confused and wanted to die most of the time but he never let any of this show when he played, he had promised himself that if everything else in his life was fucked he wouldn’t screw the only thing that mattered. The only thing he had left.

And It paid of.

A few years later Málaga came calling and just like the first time he didn’t blink before signing the contract. He just wanted out of that fucking place.

He left and slowly things came back to normal. He pretended he didn’t remember anything and he just left all of the bad memories behind, but there was one thing he just couldn’t change and that was the fact that he would never really be himself again.

He worked his ass of and in 2013, when he was only twenty-one, he packed everything he owned and left for Madrid.

For the first time in years he felt good, he felt great again. He had friends, real friends that he loved and that loved him in return and everything just seemed to be falling into place. No one knew about what had happened to him and he planned for it to stay that way. He had spent years building this wall around himself and he had finally managed to feel strong and in control of his life.

He was _happy_.

 

Then Álvaro Morata came and fucked everything up.


	2. by those who figured justice in fond memory, witness me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Title taken from: _Better Love_ by Hozier)

If Isco’s being honest with himself (and he never is so this might be important) he should’ve seen it coming. How he didn’t is beyond his understanding, but he should’ve. Now, well, now there’s nothing he can do about it, not that he was going to be able to do something before, really, but at least he would’ve been ready.

_“You knew?” Isco all but yelled into the phone, hands as shaky as his voice._

_“Well, I mean, no one knew for sure…”_

_He scoffed. Of course that’d be their defense._

_“No, but you knew, because you were with him this whole time and he had to know. He had to- you’re telling me he didn’t say anything? He just waited for everyone to find out like I did, then? I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it, Iker.” He took a deep breath, rubbing his face with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone and sighed deeply, “Sergio?”_

_He heard some shuffling on the other line, some muffled talking before someone spoke again._

_“Isco… look. Yes, we knew. He told us first because- just because, really. But we didn’t tell you because what was the point of it? You’re on a much needed vacation and I- we just didn’t think it was worth it.”_

_“You didn’t think it was worth it?” Isco asked incredulously, “Sergio, I had to find out because the_ commentator _on the match said it. Really? I mean, I…” But what was he supposed to say? That he was desperate? Sad? That he needed him? That he- “I love him. I still do- I always have and I just-” he took a moment to breathe deeply because suddenly everything around him was spinning and he just couldn’t deal with it anymore. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I know he hates me and I can’t just- can’t just pretend that that’s not the case. But I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s different now, if he’s training with us- I mean, he’s- we’re… he’s going to be there. All the time. It’s just. Fuck.”_

That conversation had ended exactly like it had begun: badly, and now he was left to his thoughts, which was never good because in this moments he tended to perfect the art of self-deprecation the only way he knew how to.

 

x

 

Isco soon found out that pretending he was fine was easier said than done.

He knew he couldn’t fuck this up. Being in Real Madrid was everything himself and probably most footballers have always dreamed of. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, an opportunity he was immensely grateful for. But some nights, some nights it was as if he was sucked into this heart of immense darkness. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath, the sheets felt heavy and almost course against his body, it felt as if someone had their hands wrapped around their throat, like there was something on his chest, squashing his lungs and cutting all access for any oxygen to go in.

These days were the worst.

He would wake up to his own screaming, drenched in sweat and crying, gasping for breath and telling himself that _it’s okay_ , _it’s fine_ ,  _it’s just a dream_. But he knew the truth, he knew it wasn’t a dream, he knew all of his worst nightmares were the memories he couldn’t get rid of.

He was good, however, at hiding his past from everyone around him.

Or at least he liked to think so.

It was hard for him, at first, to make friends. He had spent such a long time without them, really, that he just wasn’t sure of how to do it, how to approach them, ask them to hang out or go to grab a bite, but luckily enough, the guys in the squad were all pretty friendly and welcoming. He was young, one of the youngest, and they knew he had moved without his family or even a girlfriend ( _ha!_ ), so they really did their best to make him feel like home.

As vice-captain Sergio felt the need to act as everything and anything his teammates might’ve need. So, of course, he took it upon himself to take Isco in a shopping spree for furniture and everything else a house may need, give him an entire tour of Madrid, invite him to countless dinners at his house, and juts all in all make sure he was as comfortable as he could possibly be.

Iker wasn’t far from this either, but was a bit more… subtle, than Sergio. And he was more observant as well.

“Were did Isco play before he came to Madrid?” Iker had asked Sergio one day. It was a cold morning at the Bernabéu, the sky was cloudy and the wind was harsh. Iker didn’t know if it was the lightning or Isco’s white shirt that was contrasting against his features, but he was sure his eyes were red rimmed and tired, with dark purple circles underneath.

Sergio, who was always way to oblivious about almost everything, didn’t notice the look Iker was giving him and simply shrugged, “Wasn’t it Malaga?”

“Yeah, I know, but before. He said he only played at Malaga for a year.”

“I’ve got no idea, he’s never talked about anything before Malaga. Just ask him, I’m sure he won’t have a problem with it.”

Iker wasn’t sure why, but there was something telling him that he did have a problem with it.

This feeling was confirmed a week later, when there was no one but them left in the locker room after training and Iker decided to just take Sergio’s advice (something he, or anyone in their right mind, would _never_ do).

“You’re from Málaga, right?”

Isco was tying his shoelaces and looked up startled, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there with him, and then nodded his head, “Y-yeah, I was born in Benalmádena.”

“And you played for Málaga, right? Before coming here.”

“Yes,” he spoke quietly, and Iker thought that he had never heard him raise his voice.

“And before Malaga, what team did you play for?”

Isco was now done with his shoes and was packing his things, his back turned to Iker as he was standing in front of his locker and suddenly, as if someone had a gun pressed between his shoulder blades, he froze. Iker saw the muscles on his back completely tense, and in the silence of the empty room, he could hear his stuttering breaths.

“Valencia,” he murmured after a few seconds, but Iker didn’t miss it, the way he said it, as if he was talking about some forbidden, dangerous thing he knew he shouldn’t be talking about.

Iker had thought that Isco looked extremely shook after their conversation and offered to give him a ride home but Isco politely declined, saying something about his car being in the parking lot anyways, and then left without another word.

Now Iker was 100% sure something was wrong, he didn’t know what or why, but he suspected it had something to do with Isco’s time at Valencia, which, clearly didn’t take a genius to figure that, so really he was just back at square one.

It was disheartening, really, because he knew the younger boy was troubled, he knew something was bothering him, but he couldn’t help. He had no idea whatsoever of what it was that made him so scared, so guarded, but he also knew better than to just up and ask, so for a while he did what he could. He would make small conversation with Isco every morning and then at the end of practice, would compliment him on his skills, give him a pep talk before matches when he knew he was nervous, and just everything he humanly could without coming of as weird or stalkerish. He knew it wasn’t much, probably closer to nothing, but he just hoped Isco understood that he was there, and most importantly, that he wasn’t alone.

Iker remembers the day he finally found out, and even though he was glad he did, he wished it would’ve been in a different way.

They had a home match against Valencia and everyone was in the locker rooms getting ready. Isco was starting that day and he felt incredibly happy, but at the same time was slightly put off by whom they were playing against. He hadn’t really kept tabs on the team after he left and he kept telling himself it was such a long time ago, chances were half if not all the boys he had played with in the youth academy were long gone. That was the reasonable thing to do, tell himself he was safe.

And he felt safe.

It was really hard at first and honestly, he thought like he would never feel like that ever again, but here, in Madrid, with his teammates by his side, he felt safe, he felt home.

Of course, those thoughts were thrown out the window the minute both the teams were lined up in the tunnel, ready to go, and he had a look at the players.

In less than a second he saw how all of the walls he had carefully build around himself, protecting him from the harsh world outside, were knocked down, how they disappeared into thin air as he saw the dreadful smirk that haunted every single one of his nightmares, right in front of him.

He gasped for breath, resurfacing from the horrible daze he was put in, and shut his eyes tight, willing all of the memories and fear away, repeating over and over again in his head like a mantra that _he isn’t real_ , _he is not there_ , _he can’t hurt you anymore_ , but when he opened his eyes again he was still there, staring intently at Isco, his eyes dragging slowly over the whole of his body and Isco felt like crying, or throwing up, or both. He wanted to run, to hide, to shut himself in his room and never come out, because even thought he’s be alone and that’s probably the last thing he wanted right now, he knew that he’d be _safe_.

“Isco, Isco,” he could hear someone calling out his name faintly, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to figure if it was real or not. He couldn’t grasp his surroundings, he wasn’t sure if his eyes were still closed or if they were open, he wasn’t sure of anything.

On the front of the line, oblivious to what was happening just meters away from him, Iker was speaking softly to Sergio about the match, and about how he should at least _try not to get a red card, Sese_ , but he was suddenly yanked back by a deeply distressed Morata and he couldn’t really make out what he was saying but he heard _Isco_ somewhere between his rushed words and knew something was wrong.

He ran towards the back of the line where he knew the midfielder was and felt something pulling at his heartstrings when he saw the state in which Isco was in.

His eyes were barely open but they were glassy and distant, a tear managing to make it’s way through the corner of the left one. His face was completely pale, alarmingly so, he looked as if he was either about to pass out or throw up, one of his hands was gripping the front of his shirt tightly, knuckles white, and his breathing was all over the place, as erratic and labored as they come.

He placed both his hands on Isco’s shoulders and gripped them, shaking him softly.

“Isco,” he spoke firmly, but nothing happened, so he placed one of the hands on his right cheek and repeated his name once, twice, three times. Nothing.

He forward and pulled him to his chest, hugging him. He put his lips closed to Isco’s ear and started talking again, “Isco, listen to me, you’re okay. You hear me? You’re fine. I don’t know what happened in Valencia but you’re okay here, you’re _safe_.”

At the mention of that word Isco seemed to be snapped out of his trance. It’s like he was coming out of the water after a few minutes, he gasped in a huge breath and tried to get away from Iker, pushing at his chest, but Iker didn’t let go, he just hugged him tighter and spoke again.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. Isco, it’s me. It’s Iker. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Suddenly, Isco stopped moving completely, looked Iker straight in the eyes and then hugged him frantically, griping the front of his shirt and burying his head on the crook of his neck.

Iker rubbed his back and looked over at Álvaro, who apparently had been standing to the side the whole time. He nodded and mouthed an  _I got it_ , before turning his eyes back to the trembling boy in his arms. He slowly disentangled himself from Isco and gabbed his face softly.

“Are you okay?”

Isco, who still looked a bit dazed and out of it, just opened and closed his mouth a few times before apologizing.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Iker, I-”

“Isco, listen to me, don’t apologize, there’s nothing to apologize for, okay? I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Isco breathed in and out a few times before glancing to the side and nodding.

Iker looked in the same direction and found three guys whispering and laughing. He narrowed his eyes at them and turned back to Isco.

“Are you okay to play, Isco?”

Isco kept glancing back and forth between Iker and the boys.

“I… I- yes.”

“Isco, do you _want_ to play? It’s okay if you don’t, I’ll explain it to el Mister. You don’t have to play if you don’t feel like it.”

The truth is that, right now, Iker much rather Isco not playing, not because he was doubting his abilities or anything similar, but because he worried about the boy’s mental health being completely intact while they played against Valencia. Iker still had no idea what had happened in the younger’s past, but he knew it definitely had something to do with the boys on the other team.

“Are you _completely_ sure?”

Isco glanced at the boys one last time and Iker was just going to tell him he shouldn’t play, but when he looked back at him the fire he had in his eyes was something like he’s never seen before.

“I’m playing.”

And boy did he play.

From the moment he set foot on the pitch, Isco played like his life depended on it, like it was the last time he was going to be able to do it. It was as if he wasn’t even in control of his body anymore. He was on fire, his veins pumping with adrenaline like he’s never felt before.

He scored two goals that match and he had never in his entire life felt prouder of himself.

He was one of the last to walk down the tunnel again, the brightest of smiles on his face and heart as light as a feather.

“Isco.”

He turned around and just like last time the smile was automatically wiped of his face, a frightened look taking it’s place instead.

He stood frozen for a few seconds, pondering what exactly he should do. Run? Hide? Cry? He really had no idea, all he knew was that he was alone, again, with his worst nightmare right in front of him.

“Wh-what do you w-want?” He couldn’t help the way his voice shook.

The boy smirked at him, that dirty, terrifying smirk he would always give him before he pushed him against the bed.

“You’ve grown, haven’t you, Isco?” he whispered sultrily, suddenly one step away from Isco.

Isco gulped and backed away, wishing with everything he’s got that someone, _anyone_ would come looking for him.

“Are you enjoying yourself here, Isco? Are you doing the same things with them? Do they treat you better, Isco?” His tone was so patronizing and his words were just hitting Isco like a bullet, each syllable like a punch to the stomach.

“Do they, Isco? Who do you like the most? Iker? He’s big and strong, isn’t him? Just like you like them,” he chuckled darkly at the end, now almost pressed against Isco. “Or is it Álvaro? I saw him staring at you earlier. They have no idea, do they? What we got up to, you and me Isco, don’t you miss it?”

“No,” Isco spoke, his voice was firm but so full of fear.

“Oh, you don’t? Come on, Isquito, we both know that’s a lie. You _love_ it. I think you might’ve enjoyed it more than us.”

Now Isco was crying, there was no other way around it.

“G-get away from m-me.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Isco, is that any way of talking to me?”

This whole time Isco was looking everywhere but at him. He was trying to look for an exit, for anything to get away from him, but he couldn’t, he was too weak, he always was.

“ISCO! There you are! We were looking for you.”

In that moment Isco had never appreciated someone as much as he did Álvaro Morata just then.

Álvaro jogged up to them and the guy took a few steps away from Isco but not enough for the fear to completely leave his body. Álvaro looked between the two of them a few times before his attention was completely on Isco, and it didn’t take more than a second for him to realize something was terribly wrong.

“We’re leaving,” he said to no one in particular and Isco just nodded frantically. He frowned again and wrapped a protective arm around his teammate's shoulders. Isco just pressed himself harder against his side.

“I’ll see you around, _Isquito_.”

Álvaro felt Isco trembling against him and stopped walking as soon as they had rounded the corner.

“Isco, what happened? Who was that?”

The only sign of acknowledgment he got from the other boy was a quiet sniffle, so Álvaro pulled him into his arms, hugging him tightly and running his hands through Isco’s hair.

Isco couldn’t help the sobs that started leaving his throat, he just couldn’t control it. His lips, along with the rest of his body, were trembling wildly and the tears just kept falling and falling, soaking his Álvaro's already sweat-soaked shirt. He felt like a little kid, being comforted by his parents, crying because someone had tripped him on the playground or something. But the truth is that Isco barely remembered something like that ever happening. He had left his home when he was so young, following his dreams, that he just never had the chance to be a proper kid, he grew up so fast and was just now realizing how much he missed this, being held by someone and just feeling secure in their arms.

Álvaro let him cry, rubbing his back affectionately and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear, but he was deeply shook, he knew that guy had everything to do with Isco’s despair but apart from that he was completely clueless.

That’s exactly how Iker found them, huddled up in a corner of the stadium, Isco still crying and shaking violently and Morata looking hopelessly sad.

He immediately approached them, asking Álvaro what the hell had happened and couldn’t help the slight anger that slipped into his tone.

“I-I don’t know! He was talking to one of the guys from Valencia and-”

“Let’s get him out of here.”

It didn’t really take more for Álvaro to slowly steer the boy in his arms towards the now empty locker room. He sat down, Isco still pressed impossibly close against him, and waited for Iker to say something.

“Isco…” the captain said tentatively, “Isco, I just want to help you, okay?” The boy nodded but his head was still pressed against Álvaro’s neck.

“Something happened when you were in Valencia, right? And it has something to do with that boy,” the last part of the sentence was said as more of a statement really, since there was no doubt in Iker’s mind that he had done something to Isco.

Again, Isco only nodded.

“Isco, look at me, please.”

Slowly, Isco moved his face to meet his captain’s eyes, his showing nothing more than fear and pain.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Honestly, Iker felt like he was speaking to a child, but that’s just how Isco looked like right now, eyes wide and wet, pressed up against his friend, looking very much lost and scared.

Isco looked like he was pondering wether to tell them or not, but then he just looked defeated, like he just knew he was going to have to have to tell someone at some point.

And so he did.

He told them absolutely everything. He relieved his whole experience from the minute he stepped into the Valencia youth academy to the minute he left for Malaga, and he saw Iker’s shattered expression and Álvaro’s furious one and somehow felt good, he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he felt as if someone really, truly cared for him, and it was the best feeling in the whole wide world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, this chapter came out slightly different from what I was expecting it??? but I really hope you liked it and I _promise_ next one will have way more Morisco.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. to the wild and to the both of us, i confessed the longing i was dreaming of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Title taken from: _Better Love_ by Hoizer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, I know it's been a month and I am terribly sorry, but I just started school and things have been a bit hectic. I'm not 100% happy with this chapter and it was really hard to write for some reason(???) and it's much shorter than they usually are. idk, I might be experiencing one of my infamous writer's blocks. However, I do feel like it's pretty different from the rest and it has the one thing everyone actually came here for: Morisco. So thank you for reading and commenting, I love you all.
> 
> now, *Antoine's voice* _enjoy_.
> 
> (ps: I'm sorry guys, I couldn't contain myself, I had to do it.)
> 
> (pps: actually, fuck this chapter guys, I hate myself for it and you deserve much, much better. I'm fucking this up so bad, I swear. Please don't hate me but feel free to fucking murder me for this. I'm sorry.)

**Capi** 2h ago

_You know it’s okay, right? That you love him._

 

**Capi** 56m ago

_Isco?_

 

**Capi** 50m ago

_Isquito come on._

 

**Capi** 46m ago

_We’re sorry we didn’t tell you, okay? I know we should’ve. I just didn’t want to see you hurt._

 

**Capi** 39m ago

_Isco, are you okay? Are you asleep or something?_

 

**Capi** 36m ago

_I mean it’s pretty early…_

 

**Capi** 20m ago

_Alright, Francisco, really. Where are you?_

 

**Capi** 10m ago

_Isco I WILL go to your house, I swear._

 

**Capi** 5m ago

_Isco, I’m sorry, okay? I’m really, really sorry. Both Sergio and myself are really sorry. But you can be mad about that after you tell us where you are, or if you’re okay, yeah? Please. We’re worried._

 

**Capi** 1m ago

_Isco, goddamnit, please._

 

**Capi _is typing…_**

 

**Isco** now

_iker can you come over_

 

**_Incoming call from Capi_ **

 

x

 

For Álvaro, falling in love with Isco was like falling in love with this club; easy, fast, reckless. He would usually consider this a problem but he was too far gone, and in the next few weeks after Isco’s confession, Álvaro found himself not only wanting, but _needing_ , to be close to the other boy. On the pitch and off it.

He didn’t notice it at first (or he ignored it, really) but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Isco. During practices they would always pair up and Álvaro would feel on cloud nine whenever he smiled and the sun shined in his eyes. For him, Isco was the walking embodiment of the moon and all the stars; dark, but unbelievably beautiful and completely mesmerizing.

Álvaro was done for, he knew that much.

And he wasn’t the only one.

It was one day in training. He was _supposed_ to be focusing on the drill they were currently doing, but instead, he was doing what could only be described as practically murdering Nacho with his eyes.

I mean, sure, he liked Nacho alright; the boy was nice to everyone and he just never had a problem with him in the first place. However, what he didn’t like was the way he was laughing with Isco, nor the way he touched his elbow, or the back of his head, or any other part of him. His blood ran cold and he saw red every time he witnessed the scene happening right in front of him.

“I thought everyone liked Nacho.”

Álvaro turned his head so fast he got whiplash and found Xabi standing right beside him.

“What?” he asked completely confused.

Xabi just shrugged with a knowing smile, “I don’t know, I mean, I just thought no one hated him, you know? He’s pretty likable.”

Álvaro once again narrowed his eyes at the boy and then brought his attention back to Xabi.

“I guess? He’s, um, nice. Yeah.”

Xabi actually snorted, threw his head back in laughter and gave the younger boy a small pat on the back.

“Oh, Álvaro, you’re completely head over heels aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, lover boy. There hasn’t been one training in the last month in which you haven’t glared at anyone who’s approximately ten feet from Isco.”

Álvaro could only admit defeat at this, slumping his shoulders forward and rubbing his face.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really,” Xabi shrugged and smiled again, that kind wise smile Xabi Alonso was known for, “look, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling, okay?”

Álvaro smiled back, grateful for his teammate’s support, and a comfortable silence fell between them.

“I’ve heard things,” Álvaro spoke suddenly, “I don’t know if they’re true but.”

Xabi’s eyes sparkled, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I think when it comes to football, 99% of transfer rumors are a complete lie, but if it’s about two players fancying each other then it’s probably true.”

Álvaro was left skeptical. He could surely take that as a yes, but he hadn’t really asked anything yet, and chances were Xabi was just avoiding the topic. (Which, then again, would also answer his unvoiced question, wouldn’t it?).

“I don’t know if-”

“If you’re asking about Steven Gerrard-” he stopped for a moment, his expression flickering into one of fondness and melancholy, “—and I know you are—I won’t lie to you, Álvi. I loved Stevie, as a friend and… something else.”

_There it is then_ , Álvaro thought to himself. He took a moment to grasp the new information that, honestly, wasn’t all thta  _new_. ‘ _Gerlonso_ ,’ as some people may call it, was probably football’s best and worst kept secret. Pretty much everyone knew about it, but at the same time no one did because nothing was strictly confirmed. Not until now, at least.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “you guys- I mean, how did that- you know, work out. And stuff.”

“Nothing I tell you is going to help unless you actually go and _talk_ to Isco.”

“But what if-”

“Those three words are going to hunt you for the rest of your life,” he paused and smirked, “unless you go and talk to Isco.”

_Talking to Isco it is then_.

 

x

 

He was leaning up against the wall just outside of the locker rooms and he was _relatively_ calm and collected. I mean, his hands were clammy and he was nervously tapping his foot against the floor. But he was okay.

Isco was, as always, one of the lasts to leave the locker room. He had obviously just showered; his hair was still wet and dripping slightly at the tips. He had this earth-y scent to him, under the cologne and body wash he used, Álvaro couldn’t really find the words to describe it, but it made him think of warm sunshine in the early morning or the smell that’s left after a storm, like rain on the pavement.

“Álvaro,” he greeted him with that warm, dazzling smile, “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

Álvaro smiled back and fell into step next to him.

“Well, um, yeah, but I was wondering if maybe you, uh, wantedtohangout,” he rushed out the last words, making it nearly impossible for the older boy to understand.

Isco glanced at him and cocked his head to the side, “sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

_Come on, Álvaro. Get a fucking grip_.

“Do you want to hang out?” he repeated slowly and felt stupid. This whole thing was stupid. Isco and him were  _friends_ , this wasn't  _new_ , but he still felt like regretting his words for a few seconds, before he saw Isco’s features morphing into an expression of complete happiness and quickly exhaled the breath he didn’t know was holding.

From then on they fell into a routine.

They became completely inseparable. In trainings they would always be together, it didn’t matter if it wasn’t a pair-up, then they would just stick close to each other. Isco still took ages showering but Álvaro would be leaning against the same wall every single day, then they would leave in his car because Isco didn’t really enjoy driving, and would go anywhere time would take them. Isco particularly liked that Thai restaurant two blocks away from his house.

Things were good, they were great. If it was up to him he would spend every single second of his day with Isco. He was completely sure he would be happy with just sitting beside him and doing nothing, which was exactly what they were doing right now.

They were back from one of their little adventures around Madrid and were both completely drained, the day’s hard training and the fact that it was almost midnight was taking a toll on them and had them both sprawled on Álvaro’s couch, Isco’s head on his shoulder and both their feet perched on the coffee table as they watched some Denzel Washington movie. Álvaro didn’t particularly like the movie, or the actor, or the genre, but it was Isco’s favorite and, honestly, he couldn’t deny those doe-eyes a single thing. Not that he wanted to anyways.

“Álvi pay attention, this is the _best_ part,” Isco said excitedly, taking Álvaro’s phone from his hands and tossing it softly towards the other end of the couch.

He didn’t say anything about the fact that that was the fifth time Isco had mumbled those exact same words in the last half hour, instead, he just chuckled and nudged Isco’s foot with his own.

(Honestly, though, how more couple-y could they get without being an actual couple?)

Eventually the movie ended and now it was way past midnight, everything was quiet and the only light illuminating the room was the tv that was currently playing the credits. He was warm and Isco’s weight on his chest was incredibly comforting.

“Can I tell you something?” Isco’s voice was barely above a whisper but it still managed to startle Álvaro.

“Anything,” he answered instantly.

Isco took a deep breath but didn’t move his head from Álvaro’s shoulder as he once again spoke.

“I like you.”

“I like you too, Isco,” he chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“No,” Isco suddenly sat up straight and turned his body towards Álvaro, “I mean I _like_ you,” he stared at him with wide, scared eyes.

Álvaro wanted to kick himself for being so cliché but for a moment there he felt like the world had stopped. He couldn’t hear, feel or see anything that wasn’t _IscoIscoIsco_. His brain was completely focused on chanting his name like a mantra, like it was the only word it knew, and his senses were completely clouded by the overwhelming desire to be close to the other boy, _closer_ , in every sense of the word.

He tried to speak but the words got stuck in his throat and his mouth felt dry.

Isco was looking at him like he wanted to figure him out and he felt like he was going to burst.

He leaned towards Isco, not knowing exactly what he was going to do next but it didn’t matter, it was as if he was being guided by some instinct that was beyond his comprehension. But his veins were calling for Isco, they were burning and yearning for him, and it was like nothing he had ever felt before.

He placed his hand on the back of Isco’s hair, slightly gripping the short locks and stared deep into his eyes. They were almost black, the pupils blown wide with want and Álvaro wondered how the fuck he had managed to stay away from this boy for so long.

“Kiss me,” came Isco’s raspy whisper and that was the only reassurance Álvaro needed.

He smashed their lips together, teeth colliding for a moment but it’s not as if he cared. Isco’s mouth was warm and pliant against his, willing and giving, and he tasted like sunshine and rain and everything good and dangerous under the sun.

He leaned forward and Isco followed suit, his back pressed against the couch and Álvaro pushed one of his legs between his opened ones. Isco’s hands ran down his sides and gripped his waist before they slipped under his shirt, mapping all over Álvaro’s back.

They only stopped when the need for air became critical and Álvaro leaned his forehead against Isco’s sweaty one. He breathed for a few quiet seconds before he opened his eyes to find Isco’s hazel ones staring right back at him. Álvaro went back to the day they met, when he swore he would never see something more beautiful ever again, and cursed himself for being so stupid because this sight, Isco with his hazy eyes and red-bitten lips and flushed cheeks, hair disheveled to the point of no return, was the most breathtaking thing he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“I lied,” he whispered, gaze unwavering, “I told you I liked you and that doesn’t come close to what I’m feeling right now, Isco.”

“What _do_ you feel then, Álvi?” Isco said softly, lips grazing Álvaro’s as he spoke.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he chuckled softly, “I love you, Francisco.”

Isco blushed but didn’t waste any more time in crashing their lips together once again.


End file.
